


In the Eyes of the Old Gods

by TheAsexualScorpio



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rhaegar won, Arranged Marriage, Arya Stark & Assorted Ladies, Arya Stark/Edric "Ned" Dayne, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark - Freeform, Daenerys Targaryen/Aegon VI Targaryen - Freeform, Elia Martell/Ellaria Sand - Freeform, F/M, Feelings, Implied/Referenced Incest, Infidelity, Jon Snow & Arya Stark - Freeform, Jon Snow & Daenerys Targaryen - Freeform, Mild Angst, Minor Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Minor Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Minor Renly Baratheon/Loras Tyrell, Multiple Pairings, Myrcella Baratheon/Trystane Martell - Freeform, Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand - Freeform, POV Multiple, Platonic Relationships, Rating May Change, Rhaegar Lives, Rickon Stark & Robert "Sweetrobin" Arryn, Robb Stark/Wylla Manderly - Freeform, Sansa Stark & Margaery Tyrell - Freeform, Self-Indulgent, Slow Burn, Viserys Targaryen/Arianne Martell - Freeform, Wedding Planning, Willas Tyrell/Rhaenys Targaryen, the slowest of burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-01-15 11:17:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12319986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualScorpio/pseuds/TheAsexualScorpio
Summary: The upcoming wedding of crown prince Aegon Targaryen and Lady Sansa Stark is far more than the union of two families. It is even more than the union of the future king and his queen. It is the greatest step toward shoring up the rift between houses Targaryen and Stark and ensuring lasting peace in a realm that still remembers Robert's Rebellion.Nothing can be allowed to go wrong.





	1. Eddard

Ned eyed the letter in front of him with great trepidation.

Its blood red seal was stamped with the three-headed dragon of house Targaryen. In all his years as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, he had never once received a letter from the king. Only once, that he was aware, had a royal letter even _pertained_ to him, and that was the one that had demanded his head. 

It had been twenty-two years since then, and Ned still had his head. A different king now sat on the Iron Throne, but the dragon sigil was still enough put him on edge. Dread pooled low in his stomach as he broke the letter's seal. He skimmed over the first paragraph and was relieved to see it was far more polite than the letter that had declared his life forfeit. It was little more than lists of titles and proper greetings, and there were no signs at all that the letter's writer was a madman. However, the second paragraph strengthened his dread:

 

_I have been told that your daughter, Lady Sansa, has just counted her nineteenth nameday. Mine own son, Prince Aegon, is now a man of four and twenty, and I am certain you would agree that it is time for them to be wed. As this union is of particular importance, Queen Elia has already begun preparing for the celebration. I thank you now, as I did years ago, for your cooperation and your foresight, Lord Stark. I look forward to seeing you again in King's Landing, this time under far more joyous circumstances, and Prince Aegon is eager to finally meet his bride._

 

A cursory look at the rest of the letter revealed no more than extra assurances and courtesies, and Ned sighed, leaning back in his chair. The idea of moving his household to the capital—and all the work it would entail—had a headache brewing behind his left eye. His skin itched at the thought of being trussed up in silk and forced to face King's Landing's interminable heat, and the idea of trying to force Ayra and Rickon into clothes suitable for the capitol made the ache behind his eye throb angrily.

However, the pain in his head was nothing compared to the pain in his chest. It was like an icy hand had wrapped itself around his heart and  _squeezed_. He was going to have to bring his first daughter, sweet Sansa, to King's Landing. Soon, he would have to leave her there, even though nothing good had ever come of his family venturing south. His father, and Brandon, and Lyanna had all gone south, and only their bones had returned. However, there was no way he could tell the king no. He couldn't years ago, and he couldn't now. 

A massive weight pressed against his side, steadily enough that he wasn't immediately shoved from his chair. It pulled Ned back from his dark thoughts, and he smiled slightly when he turned and saw Ghost at his side. The direwolf was near the size of a horse and probably weighed just as much, and yet he was butting his head against Ned as though he were no more than a pup. He stared down at Ned with his shining red eyes, silent and steady as always. Ned stretched to reach Ghost's back and ran his fingers through the beast's thick white fur. His presence was a comfort in more ways than one. 

Ghost had been part of a litter that Ned's eldest son Robb had found many years ago, just before the long summer ended. Ned had brought his second son Bran along to witness his first execution. Though only seven, he'd faced it bravely and listened closely when Ned explained after that the man who passes should swing the sword. They'd been on their way back to Winterfell when Robb found a direwolf dead in the snow, the first seen south of the Wall in what must have been two hundred years. She'd taken an antler to the throat during a fight with a stag, but she'd lived long enough to whelp a litter of pups. Ned had planned to put them down, not wanting to leave a pack of monsters to eat the livestock and terrorize the smallfolk during the upcoming winter. However, Jory, the captain of the guard, had insisted it was an omen.

The direwolf was the sigil of house Stark, and there were five pups, one for each of Ned's children. Clearly, they were meant to have them. Reluctantly, Ned had agreed on the condition that his children would train and feed the pups themselves. After that, they'd gathered up the pups and started back to Winterfell, but before they'd gone too far, Bran suddenly turned back. He returned with a sixth pup with fur as white as the snow and red eyes that were already open. He hadn't planned on it, but that one became Ned's. Though he wasn't superstitious by nature, Ned thought there might be something to Jory's talk of omens. He felt a closeness with Ghost that he'd never felt with another animal, to the point he even dreamed he _was_ Ghost some nights. He had no doubt that if it came to it, Ghost would die for him, and somehow he _knew_ Ghost's litter mates felt the same about Ned's children. Lady, Sansa's wolf, would keep her from suffering the same fate as her uncle and grandfather.

Ned also hoped that Sansa would have another thing in King's Landing that his father and brother hadn't: an ally. His sister's son, Prince Jaehaerys, would be of an age with Robb now, and if Ned remembered correctly, he was destined for the Kingsguard. If he had any love for his mother's kin, he would protect Sansa. Feeling better, Ned gave Ghost another pat and then summoned his wife and two eldest children to his solar. Catelyn arrived first, and her blue eyes immediately landed on the letter's red wax seal.

“A letter from the king?” she asked, just as Robb and Sansa came through the door.

Sansa's breath caught, making Ned turn to look at her. Her blue eyes were wide, and it was the only indication he could see of her excitement. Otherwise, she was perfectly composed, a proper lady. She was the shade of her mother at nineteen, and something in Ned ached.  She would be a beautiful queen. He turned back to Catelyn.

“It is a letter from the king,” he confirmed. He spared another look at Sansa. “He heard that Sansa's passed her nineteenth nameday, and he believes that she is old enough to be wed.”

Sansa beamed at the news, as did Robb. Catelyn's smile came slower, and it wasn't as bright. However, it was clear she was genuinely pleased.

“You must begin preparations to travel to the capital,” Ned told her. When she nodded, he turned to Robb. “You and your wife will remain here in Winterfell.”

His face fell.

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell,” Ned reminded his son before he could protest. Then, he smiled at Robb. “Besides, by the time we're ready to leave, your lady wife's time will be very close. I'm sure she would rather have you here than hundreds of leagues away when your son comes.”

The reminder of his pregnant wife took the last of the fight out of Robb, and he nodded. Ned pushed away the incredulous thought that he would soon be a _grandfather_ and spoke to both Sansa and Catelyn. “Robb and his wife will stay in Winterfell, but everyone else is going to King's Landing. We'll also bring the direwolves.” Ned smiled slightly at Sansa's delighted face.

Catelyn, however, looked doubtful. “Is that wise, my lord?”

“I believe it is necessary,” Ned said firmly. “Now, we should start preparing immediately.”

Catelyn took it for the dismissal it was and left, Robb close behind her. Sansa was about to leave as well, but Ned called her back. She came back into the room and stood in front of him. 

“Yes, Father?” she asked.

Ned pushed himself to his feet and then folded his arms around Sansa. She stiffened for an instant before relaxing into his embrace and gripping him tight around his shoulders. A moment later, Ned pulled away, and he could tell from the look on her face that Sansa was wondering what had come over him.

“I just realized I won't be able to do that for much longer,” he said, suddenly feeling very awkward.

Now, Sansa looked like she was about to cry. Ned wondered what he'd done wrong, but then Sansa was hugging him again. This time, he was the one who tensed up, but he tried to relax and patted Sansa on the back.

“I'm going to miss you too, Father,” she said in a thick voice. “So much.”

Ned took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He gave Sansa a squeeze and then pulled away once more.

“Why don't you go tell Arya and your brothers the good news?”

With a rueful smile, Sansa nodded and then left the solar.

 


	2. Elia

Elia loved both of her children more than anything in the world, but she could not deny there was a special place in her heart that belonged solely to Aegon. For all that he was a Targaryen in looks, his nature was purely Martell, purely _Dornish_. Her son was as playful, passionate, and charming as her brother Oberyn, and when she was with him, Elia felt like she was home again. Truly, Aegon was her gods-given solace...

“I will not marry a Northern whore!”

...and sometimes Elia wanted to wring his neck.

She did not approve of the match with the Stark girl any more than Aegon did. It was bad enough that she'd been made to share a home with Rhaegar's bastard—and he would always be a bastard no matter how many times Rhaegar said he took Lyanna Stark to wife—she did not want to share grandchildren with the boy's kin. She also did not think it wise to reward a family of rebels with the Iron Throne. Twice, she had made her disapproval known. The first time was after the Battle of the Trident, during the Great Council when the pact was made. The second time was years later, when Aegon realized who the Starks were and what they had done, and he'd stopped writing Lady Sansa. Rhaegar had been unmoved both times, so Elia didn't push. The betrothal was set, and there was no way around it. It was not her place to argue with her king. 

Aegon did not feel the same way. Stubbornness was another, less amusing trait he shared with Oberyn. 

Every day for the last fortnight, ever since Rhaegar had summoned the Starks to King's Landing, Aegon had clashed with his father. Neither of them had given an inch. Tonight, their quarrel had come to the Queen's Ballroom.

“I don't _want_ to marry her!” Aegon shouted for perhaps the hundredth time.

“It's not about want. It is about duty. One day, you will be king, and it will be your responsibility to do whatever it takes to ensure peace for the realm.” Rhaegar's words were slow and even, but he spoke through gritted teeth. He rarely allowed himself to shout.

Elia had heard the argument so many times that she knew what was coming next: _“It's also the king's duty to reward loyalty! The Starks are not loyal!"_ Instead, Aegon shocked her.

“And when did _you_ start caring so much about responsibility? Harrenhal?”

Elia's breath caught, and Rhaegar went deathly still. His purple eyes turned as hard and dark as frozen lakes. “What.”

The word was cold and flat. Elia and Aegon both knew that tone, knew that it meant the _King_ —not Rhaegar, not Father—was furious. That tone had been known to send lords and ladies scrambling to fawn over Rhaegar and beg pardons. For the first time, Aegon looked cowed, but he did not take the words back. Instead, he stared at his father, head held high. Rhaegar returned the stare without flinching, silently demanding his son back down and submit to his king. The room seemed to grow smaller and smaller as the silence filled it. Just when Elia thought she couldn't bear it anymore, Aegon spoke.

“I will not marry her,” he repeated, and then he stormed out. The room suddenly seemed cavernous without him in it.

“Aegon?” Rhaegar called after him. “Aegon! Get back here right now! This isn't finished!” He was shouting now.

Aegon did not return. 

Rhaegar let out a gusty sigh and leaned heavily against the table, letting his head fall forward. He stood that way for a long moment before dropping into his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. Elia thought he looked exhausted and far older than his forty-six years. He looked almost...frail. She cocked her head. The proper thing to do, she supposed, would be to comfort him, but any urge she might have once felt to do so had died long ago.

Instead, she left the room. 

It was almost nightfall, but her son almost always went to the yard when he was angry or frustrated, no matter what time of day it was. She was proven right when she arrived at the yard and found him hacking at a practice dummy with a tourney blade. The dummy's straw innards littered the ground around Aegon. Opposite her, at the edge of the yard, Elia saw Prince Jaehaerys and young Ned Dayne. Both looked apprehensive. Once in a while, Ned would move as if he meant to walk over to Aegon, but then he'd think better of it and stand back. Prince Jaehaerys never moved, only stared at Aegon with his unsettling black eyes. Elia turned her attention back to Aegon and stepped into the yard. Once she was a few feet behind him and his mutilated straw man, she called to him. 

Immediately, he stopped slashing at the dummy, but he didn't drop his sword. Elia could see his hand clenching and relaxing around the hilt in the fading light. His shoulders heaved with the force of his panting breaths.

“Walk with me, please,” Elia said calmly.

Aegon slumped, the tip of his blade landing on the ground. He didn't look at her or respond, but he trudged back to the armory, dragging the tourney blade behind him. A moment later, he returned unarmed, and when he reached her side, he straightened and offered her his arm.

“Mother?”

Smiling slightly, she took hold of his arm and allowed him to lead her from the yard. A pale flash in the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she looked over her shoulder to see Ned Dayne's blond head. He was pulling Prince Jaehaerys away from the yard, and Elia was pleased to realize that they were going in the opposite direction. She faced forward again and allowed her son to lead her where he wished. For a long time, neither spoke, and the silence shifted from awkward and sullen to companionable as Aegon relaxed. They were walking past the sept when Aegon finally spoke again.

“I am sorry for speaking of Harrenhal, Mother.”

Elia tensed for a moment, but she willed herself to relax. She knew it was foolish, to be so bothered by an event that was a trifle compared to a war that had literally reached her door, but Harrenhal still troubled her. She had even been known to dismiss servants for talking about it and the tourney that had happened there so many years ago. She would not stand for mockery. 

She knew, though, that Aegon had not intended to mock her. 

"I realize that you were trying to make a point,” she said after a moment. 

“Not that _he_ understood it,” Aegon said bitterly.

"I thought he seemed to understand it quite well," Elia said wryly. 

Silence reigned once more. As they walked, Elia thought about what she was going to say next. It would not be pleasant for either of them, but she knew it was best. 

"Despite his flaws, your father speaks truly. You must marry Sansa Stark." 

 Aegon let go of her arm so fast, it was like she'd stung him, and he stopped walking. "Mother, her own aunt humiliated you. The Starks rose up against our family!”

Elia raised her eyebrows at him. "Yes, I know. In fact, I was actually there when it happened."

Aegon looked abashed, and Elia softened, cupping his cheek with her hand. When she caught his eye, she spoke again. "I also know my history, Aegon. I know it always ends poorly when dragon princes dishonor their wives and break their betrothals.” 

Their names flashed through Elia's mind as she spoke. Aegon the Unworthy, who favored his mistresses and his bastards over his wife and trueborn son. Duncan, who abandoned Lyonel Baratheon's daughter for Jenny of Oldstones. Jaehaerys, who left his betrothed and stole someone else's. Rhaegar.

Jaehaerys was the only one whose foolishness hadn't started a war.  

Aegon looked away, and Elia recognized the stubborn set of his jaw. He wanted to refute her, but he could not. She patted his cheek. 

"I want you to live in a realm that is peaceful and whole, a realm that is safe for you and your children and your grandchildren. I want you to never know war. I want you to live to be a hundred, and I want you to be as loved as the Aegon that came before you.” She smiled as she ran her hand over his shorn head. “You must marry Sansa Stark, and you must be a better husband to her than your father was to me. It will be better for us all.”

When Aegon didn't say anything, Elia sighed and leaned up to kiss Aegon on the cheek. “Goodnight, my son. Think about what I have said.”

“Good night,” he mumbled back, making her smile. 

She still did not approve of the match with the Stark girl, but it would keep them all safe for a time, and besides there was at least one good thing about it.

Elia would see Oberyn at the wedding. 


	3. Catelyn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filler with a mild plot point tacked onto the end. Also, in my world, each of the great houses has a wheelhouse.

Catelyn had been riding for ten days.

Her mount, a palfrey with a slow, smooth gait, was a good one, but Catelyn had not ridden so long or so much since she was a girl in Riverrun. A deep ache had taken up residence in her thighs and backside, and it seemed like nothing Catelyn did could drive it away. She couldn't wait until they reached the Inn at the Crossroads. Ned said they would be arriving today, and he'd promised that they would stay for at least a week. They would wait for her brother, Edmure, and his party from Riverrun, and then they'd travel the rest of the way to King's Landing together.

When she caught sight of the inn, however, Catelyn was surprised to see the banners of House Tully of Riverrun flying outside it. Catelyn reined in her horse next to her husband, and together, they watched as a small party on horseback broke away from the crowd milling around the inn. As they drew closer, Catelyn saw a distinctive head of red hair and let out a laugh, shaking her head.

“Well met, sister!” her brother called, his grin wide and cheeky.

“Well met,” she called back.

Edmure came to a halt in front of them and nodded at her husband. “Lord Stark.”

“Lord Tully,” replied Ned.

“We've come to escort you to the inn. Shall we?”

“Of course. Thank you.” Both men took off at a trot, leaving Catelyn behind. At least a half a dozen men shot by her on their way after their lords, whooping in excitement. Catelyn shook her head again and continued at a walk. When she reached the inn, Edmure had already dismounted. He reached up to help her down, and she indulged him, letting him take her by the waist and lift her from the saddle. Once her feet were firm on the ground, she pulled Edmure into an embrace.

“It's so good to see you.”

Edmure pulled away and gave her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “And you as well, especially under much happier circumstances.”

Catelyn's own smile tightened. The last time she had seen Edmure was six years before, when their father died, and she ached at the reminder. She took a breath and patted Edmure on the shoulder, but before she could say anything else, Arya thundered into the yard on her horse.

“You remember my daughter, Arya?” she asked dryly, but in truth, she was thankful for the distraction. Edmure seemed to latch onto it as well and turned to Arya. He stared at her long enough to make Catelyn wonder if he actually had forgotten meeting Arya. She'd come to Riverrun along with her and the older children for Lord Hoster's funeral, but she'd spent more time with the servants than with her uncle. Thankfully, Catelyn's fear proved to be unfounded when Edmure's face suddenly split into a grin.

“Still favor tunics and trousers, I see. As lovely as you are, you should be in skirts, my lady.”

Arya's eyes widened a bit in surprise before narrowing. Clearly, she neither believed Edmure's compliment nor appreciated his thoughts on her attire, but she didn't contradict him. Catelyn, however, was pleased. She knew when Edmure spoke truly and when he spoke empty courtesies, and he'd spoken truly. Arya _had_ grown into a lovely young woman, fine-boned and slender with eyes that shone like silver, but it was hard to make people see it when Arya wore a gown like a hangman's noose.

Arya started to dismount, and Edmure hurried to her side. “Allow me to help you, my lady.”

“I don't need your help.”

“Arya,” Catelyn said firmly.

Immediately, Arya softened, giving Edmure a sweet—and blatantly false—smile. It still managed to light up her fine-featured face. “Forgive me, Nuncle, but I am able to dismount on my own. Perhaps you can help my sweet sister from the wheelhouse?”

Edmure all but melted and returned Arya's smile with an indulgent one of his own. “Of course, sweetling.” Allowing Arya to dismount, he backed away and turned his attention to the wheelhouse, which had just pulled into the yard. The door opened, and Sansa began to climb out. Edmure offered her a hand, and she took it with a thankful smile. Once she was on the ground, she beamed.

“Thank you, Uncle.”

“You're welcome, my dear.” Edmure looked Sansa up and down. “Gods be good, you are a beauty, aren't you? The shade of your mother at twenty.”

“She's far more beautiful than I ever was,” Catelyn added, because it was true. Even after a day in a stuffy wheelhouse, Sansa still looked as fresh as a spring flower, her red hair gleaming like copper in the afternoon sun.

Edmure walked back to Catelyn and dropped a kiss on her cheek. “As lovely as Sansa is, that's just not possible.”

Catelyn hummed in agreement, humoring him.

Turning back around, Edmure let out a ragged squawk when he found himself face to face with Sansa's direwolf. Catelyn bit back a smile. Behind her, she could hear some of the Northmen snickering and what sounded like Bran pointedly clearing his throat.

“You still keep the direwolves then?” Edmure asked, keeping his eyes on Lady.

“We do,” said Catelyn. The other direwolves joined the group, making the Riverrun horses whinny and shy away, tossing their manes. The men of Riverrun went as deathly still as Edmure, their eyes darting between each of the wolves. “They're good beasts.” Catelyn tried to reassure them. She turned back to Edmure, placed a hand on his shoulder, and gestured with her other hand at Ned's white wolf. “Ghost even sleeps in the room with us. I can't imagine going another winter without him.”

Edmure neither moved nor took his eyes off Lady, and Ned seemed to take pity on him. “There's a wood about a mile back. The wolves will stay there.” He raised his voice slightly over Arya and Rickon's protests. “They'd prefer it to begging for scraps outside the inn. Go on now.” He gave Ghost's side a light shove. The wolf turned and licked Ned's hand before padding off back in the direction they'd come. The rest of the wolves followed slowly, with obvious reluctance. They didn't want to be parted from their masters any more than their masters wanted to send them away.

Edmure relaxed completely once the animals were out of sight, and he turned to Catelyn with a rueful grin. She immediately pointed out her younger sons. “These are my youngest, Bran and Rickon.” They hadn't come with her Riverrun, so this was the first time Edmure had met them.

“You've the Tully look,” Edmure said approvingly. “Strong. Handsome too.”

Bran grinned, and Rickon preened.

“Where is Robb?” Edmure asked, looking around.

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell!” Rickon piped up, and Edmure raised his eyebrows at him.

“I don't care to leave Winterfell solely under a castellan,” said Ned.

“Robb's lady wife is also fast approaching her time,” Catelyn added.

Edmure looked confused for a moment, and then his eyes widened. “Seven hells, really?”

“You think _you're_ shocked,” Ned replied.

Edmure stared at Ned for a moment, eyes wide with surprise, before dissolving into laughter. “Forgive me, Ned. I didn't know it was in you to jape.”

“I wasn't.” Ned's face was as impassive as stone, and Edmure immediately stopped laughing.

“Er, forgive me, Lord Stark. Shall we go inside?”

Ned went in without another word, the children at his heels, and Edmure hung back to walk with Catelyn. “He hasn't warmed up much since your wedding day, has he?”

“He is reserved, but he's always been a good lord and husband to me,” Catelyn replied, forcing down a laugh.

“That is the most important thing, of course.” Edmure hurried to agree, and Catelyn had to bite down her on her tongue.

Inside, the common room was packed. Various lords and ladies and men-at-arms in a rainbow of colors, as well as some merchants and smallfolk, milled around the room. Thankfully, the crowd parted for her and Edmure as they made their way Ned, the children, and a plump woman Catelyn vaguely recognized. A moment later, she remembered the woman's name. Masha Heddle had been running the inn since Catelyn was a girl, and she'd always had a smile and a sweet cake ready whenever Catelyn and her brother and sister had come to the inn. Catelyn had loved the cakes, but she could have done without the smiles. The innkeep gave them one anyway when she spotted them, and it was as horrifying as Catelyn remembered. Masha's teeth and gums were blood red from years of chewing sourleaf.

“My lord, my lady,” she said, giving them each. She turned back to Ned. “You and your families can have their own rooms, of course, but everyone else has to double up.”

“Mine will double up as well,” Ned said immediately. “Three rooms for the week.”

“We would also like baths brought up to our rooms,” Catelyn added. Rickon started to groan, but he stopped as soon as Catelyn took hold of one of his shoulders and squeezed.

“Of course, my lady.” Masha turned and gestured harshly at two girls standing nearby. “Jeyne, Willow.” The girls sprung up and hurried from the room, weaving seamlessly through the crowd as they went. Masha turned back to Ned. “You'll be on the top floor, my lord. First three rooms on the right side.”

Ned paid her and started toward the stairs, the children close behind him. Catelyn kissed Edmure on the cheek. “It's good to see you again.”

“And you,” he replied.

Catelyn followed her family up the stairs, and once they were close to the top floor, she heard Arya and Rickon talking.

“Why do we have to take baths?”

“I don't know! We bathed at the last holdfast!”

Catelyn took it as an invitation. “And you've ridden through a week of mud and road dust since then. I'll not have the two of you smelling like lathered horses when it's time to have dinner with your uncle.” Though neither of them looked suitably chastened in Catelyn's opinion, they did not argue. Once they reached the top floor, they split into three groups. The girls took the first room on the right, and the boys took the second, leaving the last one for Ned and Catelyn. Once they were in the room, Catelyn immediately sat down on the bed, wincing as the movement made the ache in her legs flare up.

“Are you alright, my lady?” Ned asked.

“Of course, my lord,” said Catelyn.

Ned looked like he meant to say something else, but before he could, there was a knock at the door. He bid them enter, and a couple of their own servants came into the room, carrying their trunks. They placed them on the floor and left, passing the girls Masha had sent out for the baths, Jeyne and Willow. The younger girl held a deep wooden tub, and the elder carried two large buckets of steaming water. They set the tub down and emptied both buckets of water into it.

“I'll be back with a bucket of cool water, milord,” one of the girls said on her way out. Ned closed the door behind her and turned back to Catelyn, concern in his dark eyes.

“It is just pain from riding,” she assured him.

“Still?”

“I am out of practice,” she said dryly. She stood up and began to undress.

Ned raised his eyebrows at her. “I believe boiling water would do your aching muscles more harm than good, my lady.”

She sent him an unimpressed look and continued to undress. Once she was down to her shift, she walked over to the corner where a bowl and a pitcher were sitting on a table. A rag sat inside the bowl, and the pitcher was full of clean water. She poured some into the bowl and used the rag to clean off the worst of the dust.

After a moment, she realized it was too quiet. Ned didn't speak much, but it was strange for him not to be moving around, perhaps unpacking some of his things. She turned and found him staring at her. Her hand clenched around the rag in her hand, wringing tiny rivulets of water from it, and she squirmed slightly when one slid down the front of her shift. Ned's dark gaze followed the path of the water down her chest and remained there. Suddenly, the room felt warmer than before.

Catelyn startled when a knock sounded at the door. “Enter,” she called automatically.

It was one of Masha's girls, the older one. She was carrying another bucket of water, and her eyes widened slightly when she caught sight of Catelyn. Her head lowered, and she immediately shut the door. “Beg pardons, milady.” She poured the last of the water into the tub and hurried from the room, closing the door behind her.

Catelyn looked pointedly at the tub. “Would you like to share, my lord?”

Ned's eyes flashed. “I would, my lady.”

Catelyn smiled slowly and then shrugged out of her shift. She tossed it onto the bed before pushing her smallclothes down her legs and stepping out of them. She hissed softly as she stepped into the tub, at both the hot water and the way her legs cramped as she lowered herself into the tub. Once she was seated, the pain eased somewhat, and she looked up at Ned with a rueful smile. It faded immediately when she saw the look in his eyes, that familiar hunger. Not for the first time, she wondered at how lucky she was. She had passed her fortieth nameday last year, and her husband still looked at her like she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Warmth bloomed in her chest, and it grew hotter when Ned began undress. He stripped himself to the waist, but after that, he made no move to take off his trousers. Instead, he pulled one of their heavy trunks alongside the tub and sat down on it.

“Lean back, if you would, my lady.”

Bemused, Catelyn leaned back until she was half-lying in the tub.

“Put your leg on the side.”

Catelyn's eyes widened at that. There was very little modesty left between her and Ned, not after five children and almost twenty-three years of marriage, but she couldn't imagine why he'd want her positioned in such a way. He'd be able to stare straight between her legs if he wished. Tentatively, she picked her right leg up and placed it on the edge of the tub. He took her by the ankle and pulled her legs even further apart, making Catelyn sink lower into the tub. She opened her mouth to ask what he was doing, but all that came out was a moan as he dug his thumbs into the arch of her foot. She sunk even deeper into the tub as Ned rubbed her foot.

“I didn't know you were still in pain, my lady,” he said.

“I should be used to it by now.” Catelyn let out another soft moan as Ned's hands began to knead her calf.

“You're doing fine. It's just a long ride.”

Catelyn made some agreeable noise and sunk even further into the tub.

**~O~**

A couple of hours later, Catelyn was all but floating as she made her way down the stairs, more comfortable than she'd been in at least a week. At her side, Ned's eyes were a bit glazed, and his posture was more relaxed than usual. For Ned, that was practically dreamy, and Catelyn was rather pleased with herself. Ned caught her eye and smiled slightly. Catelyn wanted to kiss him. Unfortunately, they were in public now. It was time to be Lord and Lady Stark. She settled for taking his hand instead.

The common room wasn't nearly as crowded as it had been when they arrived, so it was easy to see Edmure seated alone at one of the long tables. He waved them over, and Catelyn followed Ned through the crowd to the table. Catelyn took the seat to Edmure's right, and Ned sat down at her other side. Immediately, one of Masha's girls appeared with a horn of ale for each of them.

“There you two are. I haven't seen you since you arrived.” Edmure looked thoughtful. “Though I suppose your journey has been far more tiring than mine.”

“It has been wearisome,” said Catelyn. “There are few places to stop in the North, and I don't believe I've ridden so much since I was a girl.”

Ned hid a smile behind his drink, and Catelyn resisted the urge to kick him.

“You don't take the wheelhouse?” Edmure asked.

“The wheelhouse is horrible.”

Arya had appeared on Edmure's left with Sansa right behind her. Sansa stared at the back of Arya's head like she hoped to will her sister into silence, but Arya didn't so much as flinch. She dropped into the seat across from Ned, leaving the place next to Edmure for Sansa. Another girl appeared with ale for Arya and Sansa, and Arya thanked her before turning back to Edmure. “It feels like being wrapped in a blanket that's just been soaked in boiling water.”

“It is rather close in the wheelhouse,” Catelyn admitted.

Close was being generous. In truth, Arya was right. It was horrible. It was too dim to read or do needlework with any sort of accuracy, and no matter how long it was aired out, it always smelled musty. It was also unbearably warm, and it only worsened the further south they rode. Arya had declared that she would never ride in it again after an hour. Catelyn herself had lasted a sennight before she'd had a horse saddled.

As horrid as the wheelhouse was to ride in, however, it was beautiful to look at. Made of weirwood, iron, and steel, it gleamed in the brilliant southron sun like it had been hewn from ice, and snarling direwolves carved into its surface added fierceness to the its cold beauty. It was a perfect way for a bride from House Stark to travel, which was why Catelyn had insisted on bringing it, even if she could scarce stand to ride inside.

“It's a shame I didn't think to bring our family's wheelhouse,” said Edmure.

“It wasn't necessary. It would have only slowed you down. Speaking of, you arrived here much sooner than we expected.”

“I was eager to see you all again,” Edmure replied.

“We intend to be here for at least a week,” Ned said. “I hope that doesn't interfere with our plans to travel together.”

Edmure waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Of course not. I can wait.”

“Wait for what?” Rickon asked, appearing at Arya's shoulder. “Are we talking about Robb and Wylla's baby again?”

“No, we're talking about how we'll be staying here in the inn for a week,” said Catelyn. She was glad Edmure didn't mind waiting. She didn't think she was ready to get back on the road so soon.

“Oh. Alright.” No longer interested, Rickon took the open seat next to Arya, while Bran moved around the table to sit on Ned's other side.

“I'm still amazed at the thought of Robb having a child already,” said Edmure. “When I think of him, I still see the boy you brought with you to Riverrun. He was, what? Six-and-ten?”

“Yes, and now he's two-and-twenty,” Catelyn sighed. Where did the time go?

“And making a grandmother of my sister,” Edmure teased.

“And you a granduncle. You'll be the next Blackfish at this rate.” Catelyn sent Edmure a disapproving look. Their uncle, Brynden the Blackfish, was nearing sixty and still unwed. It didn't matter too much, since he was a second son, but Edmure didn't have the luxury of staying single. He was Lord of the Riverlands, and as far as Catelyn was concerned, he should have been married ten years ago, if not earlier.

Edmure groaned and let his head fall onto the table.

“Do you mean to meet someone at Sansa's wedding?” Catelyn asked, ignoring his theatrics.

Edmure looked up. “It has occurred to me.”

That was a surprise to Catelyn, but it was good to hear. “I really think it is something you should consider.”

Edmure huffed, but he didn't disagree with her. Before either of them could say anything else, Masha, Jeyne, and Willow appeared with a bowl of what looked like stew in each of their hands. They placed a bowl in front of everyone but Rickon, and the younger girl hurried back to the kitchen to remedy that. Once Rickon was served, they all began to eat, and Catelyn let the subject drop.

 


	4. Daenerys

Dany always went to the battlements when she was troubled.

There was always something to see, so it never failed to make her forget her cares for a time. Sometimes, she would watch the sunlight dance off the glittering waters of Blackwater Bay. She would look at the ships that went in and out and imagined the far off places they came from. More often, she would watch the city, the whirling colors and sounds of thousands of people almost never failing to fascinate her. Other times, she watched the Dragonpit, where her ancestors once housed dragons that had carried them from the Doom and raised them up as kings. The Dragonpit was a ruin now and had been since the Dance of the Dragons almost two centuries ago, but Dany liked to imagine what it must have looked like when the dragons still lived. She liked to imagine dragons as well. It never failed to give her solace when she was troubled.

Until now. The Starks would be arriving any day now, and Aegon would marry Lady Sansa Stark at the end of the next moon.

Pain flared in Dany's chest, like someone had reached inside her, taken hold of her heart, and _squeezed_. She thought she might marry Aegon once, but her brother the king had quickly disabused her of that notion. Aegon had been promised to a daughter of House Stark since the end of the Rebellion, long before Sansa Stark had even quickened in her mother's womb. Rhaegar also told her then that Dany herself had been betrothed for just as long, to a son of House Baratheon. 

Her brother had advised her to let go of Aegon, and she thought she had. No one had been more surprised than Dany when Rhaegar announced Aegon's upcoming wedding, and she started to weep. She'd made some excuse and gone to the battlements, and she kept going back, hoping each day would be the day the Dragonpit finally regained its power to make her forget her troubles. 

“Are you alright?”

Dany stiffened for an instant and then relaxed. She knew that voice and welcomed it. “Hello, Jon,” she said, keeping her gaze on the Dragonpit.

Jon claimed a section of wall next to her. He folded his arms across the top of it and leaned against them, looking out at the city. After a moment of silence, he asked again: “Are you alright?”

“I'm just feeling...maudlin, I suppose,” Dany, and it was true enough. Wandering the battlements like a ghost and longing for a prince meant for another sounded like the most maudlin of songs.

Dany saw Jon frown out of the corner of her eye, and she bit back a sigh. He knew she wasn't telling him everything. She wasn't going to either. As close as they were, she'd never told Jon how she loved Aegon, because she knew that if she did, Jon would only hear: “I love Aegon _more_.”

“This feels different from when Rhaenys or Viserys got married,” she said instead. “It feels like everything is going to change.”

“It will,” Jon agreed, and Dany tensed at the bald statement. “But that doesn't mean it has to be a bad thing.”

Dany didn't know how it could be a _good_ thing. She has to watch the man she loves marry someone else. She herself has to marry a man she's never met. Soon, she'll be made to leave the only home she's ever known. Dany's breath solidified in her chest, blocking any air from coming in or out. It takes her a moment to speak.

“I don't want to leave,” she said, the words thin and reedy.

Jon moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “I don't want you to go.”

Something broke in Dany, and she slumped against Jon, tears streaming down her face. Jon hugged her tighter, and it helped ground her a bit. She breathed slowly and deeply, until she could get a breath in without it catching in her throat. Using her palms to wipe the tears away, she pulled away from Jon. She turned to face him and offered a tremulous smile.

“Do you think he'll love me?” She didn't know where the words came from, nor was she sure if she was talking about Aegon or her own betrothed. Maybe she meant it as a jape, but it sounded too desperate.

Jon answered anyway, without hesitation. "He'd be a fool not to."

She gave him another more genuine smile. She'd miss Jon terribly when she went to Storm's End. As soon as the thought formed, her breath hitched on another sob, and she tried desperately to think of something else. “Are you looking forward to Aegon's wedding?” she asked.

Elia had planned a celebration that would last the entire moon leading up to the wedding, with feasts, a masked ball, a hunt, and a tourney. She knew Jon would be interested in the latter two but find the mere mention of the former appalling. As expected, his face pulled into a dark grimace, and it was amusing enough to chase Dany's tears away. 

After a moment, Jon said, "Parts of it, I suppose."

"I think you'll enjoy it," Dany said decisively. 

“And what makes you say that?”

Dany raised her eyebrows. Jon had to have thought about it. She would in his place. When all he did was stare at her, Dany let out a frustrated cry. "Your mother's family!"

Jon looked away then, and the longer he didn't look at her, the more Dany's amusement diminished. 

“Jon?” she finally asked.

“Do you think they'll like me?” he asked, quiet and hurried.

The words made Dany ache, and she didn't know what to say. Her nephew had been alone for so long. It was said Rhaegar had wanted a girl named Visenya from Lady Lyanna, and he hadn't known what to do when he was presented with a boy. Elia had no love for Jon at all, and Viserys had no love for anyone. Jon and Aegon had been close as boys, but Aegon had pulled away when he learned what led to the Rebellion. Ned Dayne liked Jon well enough, but he would always be Aegon's friend first.

Dany had always loved Jon, and so had Rhaenys, but they'd been girls. They hadn't always had the time or the inclination to spend time with Jon the way any of them would have liked. There was also a time when they would have to leave. Rhaenys was already gone, living in Highgarden, and shortly after Aegon's wedding, Dany would have to leave too. She wanted so much for him to find something good with his mother's family.

She took Jon's hand and squeezed. When he looked at her, she offered him a small smile. “They would be fools not to.”

Shaking his head, Jon let out a quiet laugh and relaxed.

Dany's smile turned sly. “And besides, I heard Lady Sansa has a younger sister.” She bit back a laugh at Jon's scandalized expression and continued. “If not her, there are going to be plenty of other pretty girls at the wedding. Rhaenys has a good-sister about our age, Lady Margaery. I believe mine own betrothed also has two younger sisters.”

Jon's face grew more sour with each word, and Dany couldn't keep from laughing anymore.

“I don't want to get married,” Jon said archly.

“More's the pity,” Dany replied, wiping tears from her eyes. “Will you ask one of them for their favor at the tourney, at least?”

“Lady Arya, perhaps," Jon said. "But only as family, same as you. I've also thought of asking Lady Sansa, since it doesn't look like Aegon's going to do it.”

Both of them grimaced.

Winter had ended over a year ago, but Dany didn't think she'd ever forget the storms that had raged outside for months on end. The wind would howl and beat against the Red Keep hard enough to shake the walls. Since the wedding announcement, Aegon's rages had made those storms look like summer showers. 

For the first time, Dany was almost grateful she wasn't marrying Aegon. He was exhausting to deal with in his wroth and had been since he was a boy. It was the Dornish in him, her brother Viserys had said once, nose wrinkled in disdain. A childish part of Dany whispered that if  _she_ were marrying Aegon, he would never rage at her. She would love him so well. Dany shoved the thought away. 

“I hope Lady Sansa is patient,” she said instead.

"The maesters say this last winter was the longest in recorded history. If Lady Sansa can wait it out in the North of all places, I imagine she'll have patience enough for Aegon.”

Dany hummed in agreement but didn't say anything else. Jon didn't either, and for a long while, they simply watched the city. Only when the sun started to set, and the people in the city began to trickle back into their homes, did Dany speak again. "I believe I shall retire to my room."

“Would you like me to walk with you?”

“No, thank you. I'll be fine. Good night, Jon,” she said, patting him on the shoulder as she passed.

“Good night, Dany.”

Alone again, Dany's thoughts turned melancholy once more. She should be the one to marry Aegon. She'd be queen, and Jon would be in the Kingsguard. She could summon Rhaenys and her husband to court, and they could all be together again. It would be so wonderful, if Aegon could just spirit her away. They could marry in secret just as Jaehaerys and Shaera did. 

She'd just crossed the bridge into Maegor's Holdfast when Aegon seemed to materialize out of the darkness, making her start.

“Dany, could I speak with you?” he asked quickly.

Dany took a breath to calm her still racing heart. “Of course.”

Aegon took her hand, and Dany's world narrowed until he was the only thing there. His hand felt so much bigger than her own, and the calluses on his fingers and palms scraped lightly against her skin. The sensation sent sparks up and down her arm, and Dany was so caught up in it that it took her a moment to realize Aegon was leading her to a shadowed niche off the entrance of the Holdfast. Once they were near a wall, Aegon let go of her hand, and Dany mourned the loss. Aegon slumped against the wall with a sigh, and it was enough to clear Dany's mind. She looked Aegon over with a critical, not as the girl who longed for him but as his family. She didn't like what she saw. Her nephew looked exhausted. More than that, he looked defeated. 

“Are you alright?”

“I'm being forced to marry a Stark,” he said, spitting out the name like a curse. “I'm far from alright.”

Dany opened her arms and pulled him down into a hug, sighing as his arms settled around her waist. He felt so good. She nuzzled his shoulder, and she felt his chin settle on the top of her head. For a moment, they simply held each other. Dany reveled in the warmth of his skin beneath his tunic, the strength of his arms around her. After a while though, she remembered why she embraced him. She didn't want to say the words, but she knew that Aegon needed to hear them. “Perhaps she will be a good wife to you.”

“She will be as cold and treacherous as the land she comes from,” Aegon retorted. Dany squeezed him tighter, but far too soon, Aegon pulled away. He leaned back against the wall. “It's not right that I'm being forced to marry into the family that almost destroyed us.”

Dany shook her head, exasperated with Aegon for the first time. He'd always taken the slight against his mother personally. It made him forget that he wasn't the only one paying for the Rebellion. “I have to marry Joffrey Baratheon after your wedding,” she reminded him.

Aegon snorted. “That's horseshit too.”

Dany let out a shocked laugh. It caught in her throat when Aegon spoke again.

“We should just marry each other.”

Dany stared at Aegon. Surely, she hadn't heard him correctly. “What?” she asked, the words coming out in a croak. Aegon's eyes caught her own, and Dany didn't recognize the look she could see in them. Blood rushing to her cheeks, she waited for him to speak again, confirm that she'd misunderstood. Instead, he took a step toward her, and Dany stopped breathing. He took another step, and Dany took a step back. Somehow, Dany's back met the wall, and all her breath left her in a rush. She watched with wide eyes as Aegon laid his hands on her shoulders and leaned down. Surely he wasn't going to—

Aegon rested his forehead against hers. “Would you marry me, Dany? Let me steal you away?” he asked softly, his breath ghosting over her lips.

He was _so_ close. All she'd need to do is tilt up her chin, she would be kissing him. “We shouldn't,” she breathed.

“We should.” His mouth closed over hers.

The kiss lacked the brazenness that Aegon was famous for. Instead, it was soft and sweet enough to break Dany's heart. She couldn't help but kiss him back. Aegon's tongue slipped into her mouth, and she gasped. Soon, the kiss turned into something Dany was certain only belonged in the bedchamber. It was hard and heated, and need roared through her blood as unstoppable as wildfire. It lasted for a blissful eternity, but Aegon still pulled away too soon. Dany's breath came in harsh pants, and her skin felt like it was buzzing. Aegon's lips found her neck, and she let her head fall back with a sigh. His hands moved slow and deliberate up and down her sides. 

“Would you run away with me, Dany?” he asked again. She felt the words vibrating against her skin more than she heard them. Her mouth fell open, ready to say yes. Yes, to everything, anything Aegon wanted.

She wasn't sure how “no” found its way out first.

Aegon pulled away so fast it was like he'd been stung. With his warmth gone so suddenly, Dany felt frozen. She looked up at him, and the gutted expression she found on his face made her stomach twist. 

“What?” Aegon asked. His voice was raspy and broken, and it was almost enough to make Dany change her mind. The only thing that stopped her was the thought of what the Starks and Baratheons would do. What if they rebelled again? What if they succeeded in killing her family? It would be all Dany's fault, and she could not bear that.

“We can't, Aegon,” she said, and she's amazed at how firm her voice sounded. She didn't sound at all like she was shattering her own heart. “Even your mother says you must marry Sansa Stark. And I'm promised to Joffrey Baratheon.”

Aegon stared at her, and the baleful disgust in his eyes cut deep. She wished desperately that he would say something, that he understood, that he didn't hate her. Instead, he turned and stalked away without a word, and a sob forced its way out of Dany's chest. She fell back against the wall and slid to the floor, her body heaving with great, wracking sobs. 

It was a long time before she could get up and go to bed.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first attempt at a multi-chapter fic in this fandom. I have nine chapters planned out so far and a general idea of what happens after that. I honestly have no idea if it will all make sense, but here we go!


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